


It’s All Over But The Crying

by I_Will_Go_Down (ZeroToWeirdo)



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Lots of Murder, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mention of Child Abuse, Murder, Rambling, Therapy, get that vitriol out of your system, insult away, mention of possible sexual abuse, obviously, so he takes one, therapeutic use of insults, will needs a mental health day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroToWeirdo/pseuds/I_Will_Go_Down
Summary: Will was tired. Beverly was dead, Hannibal was alive, his mind was betrayed and had betrayed him, no one who mattered believed him, and he was just so tired. What would happen if Will decided he'd had enough of the puppet show Hannibal had going on with Will and everyone he knew? What if he decided to leave? Hannibal wasn't the only one who knew how to disappear. Takes place during Yakimono, season 2 episode 7.





	

Will was tired.

Beverly was dead, Hannibal was alive, his mind was betrayed and had betrayed him, no one who mattered believed him, and he was just so _tired_.

But at least he was free…well, almost.

He had no idea how he had allowed himself to think that he would be getting some peace, now that he’d been released from the ‘Hospital’. He’d been confronted by Chilton before he’d even left his cell, let alone the building, then the Ghost of Christmas Past awaited him outside the doors. Darkening the day like a self-righteous shadow, Jack Crawford whisked him to another crime scene. The only good thing about the trip had been seeing Price and Zeller again, and realising that they felt the same loss he did for Beverly. Of course, he had also had to see another elaborate set-up from Hannibal, designed perfectly to lead Jack by the nose to wherever the hell the Lithuanian bastard so chose.

And just when he thought it was over, Alana Bloom was standing in front of his house, surrounded by his dogs so he had the choice between talking to her or missing a reunion with his ‘children’, clearly her method of strong-arming him into a confrontation he couldn’t refuse.

He was beginning to see a theme here. He wondered how he had never noticed it before, how they all demanded so much of him but insisted on his silent cow-towing.

“I’m tired…” he mumbled aloud, earning a raised eyebrow from Jack. “Better sooner than later.” He responded, but Will didn’t really concur. He’d rather never. Something of his faith in Alana was ripped from the roots. She was genuinely kind, nice, understanding…but her constant incapability of seeing truth in him and ‘instability’ in Hannibal had kept him awake at night. She had failed in her only field, psychology. She’d condemned a sane man and shielded a psychopath, based on skin-deep outward appearances and on who could sound more normal in a party. But she’d learn that soon enough…and perhaps he wasn’t so sane himself after all, since he found he didn’t quite care anymore.

He exited the car, and of course, the conversation went just as he’d expected…until it didn’t.

“What was done to you…doesn’t excuse what you did. Are you going to try to hurt Hannibal again? Is he safe?”

A chill ran down Will’s spine. He saw it clear as day, the look in her eyes like a forlorn lover, the tremble of her lips at the thought of his demise. He wondered, if he had Hannibal’s sense of smell, would he be able to smell him all over her? “For me or for you?” he asked quickly. She cast her eyes down, and it was all the confirmation he needed.

He felt the jealousy rage through him, but he found it was aimed at a different person than expected. He was so used to Hannibal’s full attention, his obsession, being aimed at him…to know that he’d… _touched_ someone in a way that required passion.

For a moment, Will was sure he saw black creeping along the edges of his vision.

He was angry. _Murderously_ angry.

Alana had to leave.

“I didn’t think…he’d get _that_ bored in my absence…” he muttered. She looked shocked, confused, insulted, but for that moment he didn’t care. Better to hurt her now than come to himself and find his hands covered in her blood. “I don’t have time to hold your hand and walk you down logic-lane, so just take my advice and do with it what you will. I’d suggest that you stay as far from Hannibal as you can.”

“C’mon.” he called the dogs, and when she stepped to follow, thinking the conversation unfinished, he made a quick hand motion and said ‘shoo’. He knew he was being patronising, but he had been incarcerated for crimes he hadn’t committed, and had been freed for all of 4 hours, 4 hours of which he had been harassed and ponied about by his ‘friends’.

He didn’t know who he could trust, but one thing was for certain. He was suddenly keenly aware of who he _couldn’t_ trust.

_

He woke up drenched in sweat, remnants of his nightmare biting at his heels, and for the moment he felt a sickening sense of melancholy envelop him at the thought of how _normal_ this was.

He hated it.

How could this _Hell_ be his norm? Back into the insane hurricane. As his dogs stared at him unblinking in the night, no longer prone to whining or barking during his dreams, he knew he had to leave this place, this continuous loop of horror. His life had become his own purgatory not just for him, but for them.

And he knew that there was no end in sight.

“We’re getting out of here.” He whispered before grabbing his phone and scheduling an email to Freddie Lounds. He knew she’d do the predictable thing of keeping the information to herself till she could cash in on it. She needed a scoop? He’d give her a fucking scoop.

After typing quick instructions for her to come immediately to his house and find something for her on the porch, he scheduled the email to send at 9 in the morning and got up from bed.

He needed to plan his escape.

-

Freddie looked smug as they all began flooding into the FBI meeting room.

When they were all seated in various parts of the table, she took a good look around at each and every one of them.

Jack Crawford looked pissed, probably because she’d called them to a meeting on their turf as though she ran the damn FBI, but more likely because he had to play nice, especially if her lead was truly worth it. Alana looked confused but determined, prepared to for whatever it was that was coming. Chilton looked scared, especially since he was sat next to Hannibal. Price and Zeller looked out of place, uncomfortable and tired. Now Hannibal…he was as cool as ever, but the slight furrow in his brow spoke volumes of how distasteful he found it that he did not know what was coming.

“Alrighty, you all know why I called you here. I have some interesting news for all of you from a very important source. Needless to say, its been scheduled to upload on Tattlecrime in 3 minutes, in case you all try to smother it. I decided to show you all a little earlier, though. Without beating around the bush, here it is folks.” She announced with a grin before playing the video on the projector, while simultaneously pointing her recording camera at all of them.

The video flashed on, and everyone stopped in understanding. Jack cussed and quickly typed out a message to someone, eyes flashing back up at the screen as though he were scared to miss something.

It was Will’s camera phone, aimed at his own face as he trudged out of his house into the snow, his dogs bouncing about.

 **“Get in the back.”** He ordered, and the yips and barks, along with scratching sounds, indicated that they’d all obeyed.

 **“Alright.”** Will said, finally addressing the phone camera as he walked back to the house.

**“A final letter, to my dearest acquaintances. Thank you, Freddie Lounds, for sharing this with them. Hope you have a field day with this. In case you didn’t notice, I’m leaving. I’ve had enough with crime scenes, with psychopaths, with the ridiculous yoyo of ‘we need your insight’ and ‘we can’t trust you’. Don’t look for me, though I’m thinking your hands are about to get _very_ full, so I doubt you’ll spare more than a _thought_ at trying to find me.”**

He grabbed a duffel from the couch and headed out to the porch of his house, sitting down on the old wooden chair with a deep sigh.

**“Alright Jack, last pieces of advice, as a parting gift.**

**One. Miriam Lass is useless. She’s been compromised and nothing she says holds weight, because it something he’s _allowing_ her to say. She has been broken, no one but the Chesapeake Ripper can put her together again, and he obviously won’t. Let her go. Let her move on and live her life.**

**Two. Chilton will be a scapegoat. Something horrifying will happen, something bullet-proof to implicate him. Just remember, check all possibilities. Check his blood for drugs, check his hair as well, just in case the drugs burned out of his system before you could get to him. _Listen_ to him. He’s very honest when he’s scared. He’s a fool, but he doesn’t deserve a martyr’s ending.**

Chilton looked nauseous, and after a moment of looking around the room in horror, he stood up and left the room, hand pressed firmly on his mouth to try and stamp down his gag reflex.

**Three. You’re fairly good at sniffing out who to trust and who not to. You know what I mean when I say, you’ve figured out that your card deck is getting thinner. Keep Price and Zeller close, for the love of god keep them _safe_. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, they’re all you’ve truly got left.”**

Will’s face twisted in a painful smile, especially when he mentioned Price and Zeller. It was obvious that he was used to saying the quick ‘PriceZellerKatz’ combo. It was obvious that the loss at never being able to say it again weighed heavy on him. Price and Zeller shared a look, suddenly keenly aware that they had just lost a team mate who felt the sharp cut of her loss just as keenly as them, if not more.

Will stood up suddenly to move to the car, toting the duffel bag with him. As he walked, he started to speak.

**“Alana…I’ll miss the old you before you decided that your understanding was omnipotent. You’ve gotten a bit cocky, and I don’t blame you. I lowered my head often enough for you to think you were above me and that I was too confused to function. I blame myself, a little, for making you believe that you were insightful enough to take your place alongside us. Well, fun and games are over. The time for forfeit is ending.”**

There was something in the way he stopped all movement and looked into the camera that made Alana’s chest stutter in horror. He looked like wanted to reach through the screen and rip her heart out, and eat it right in front of her face. Like she had not only betrayed him, but had had the audacity to think herself his equal. All alarms in her head blaring that he was showing his true colours, that this was the Chesapeake Ripper speaking. And maybe it was…he had that dazed look he got when he was in a criminal’s mind.

He seemed to deflate suddenly, sighing in a frustrated gust, looking almost sheepishly at the camera, rubbing his stubble absent mindedly before slamming the trunk shut in a bang that made everyone start.

**“It’s almost…amusing. The way you saw fit to intercede, spinning around and around your little jigsaw piece, blinded by one piece of information in a sea of it, unable to see the puzzle for what it is. Unable to see the big picture. If only…I hadn’t learned how to lie to you, if I’d disillusioned you from the start. You might not have come between-…For old time’s sake, I advise you to run, run as fast as you can. You can’t handle the big dogs. Don’t throw yourself into this fray.”**

Will scrubbed a hand over his face quickly, not bothering to look up as he mumbled **“Hannibal…”**

Everyone in the room went quiet. Freddie Lounds seemed to bloom with joy at the range of reactions before her lens.

**“Hannibal…you were my friend, for a while. It’s undeniable that you knew me…better than anyone else. What you did with that knowledge is debatable, but you did _see_ me. So thank you for that. If I ever see you again… I’ll kill you.”**

Hannibal’s mouth twitched, whether to fight a smile or a frown was up in the air, but his furrowed brows had deepened. He hadn’t seen this coming.

 **“I’m tired…so tired.”** Will whispered aloud, and he looked every inch of it.

**“I’ve done what I can. I’ve given you all my conclusion, you wouldn’t accept it. There’s nothing left for me to give. Here ends the martyrdom of Will Graham. Try not to die.”**

The screen went blank, and everyone sat in silence under the realisation that Will Graham might be gone from their lives for good.

-

It had been a hard journey. Will knew he only had _one_ contact…a man from his days as a cop. He had a 24 hour head start on Jack, but he had to make every second count to get away with this.

So he’d called up Seth Annelore, the man he had questioned once in his police days and had uncovered as a murderer. He was guilty of parenticide. They had been working on another case near the docks, when Will uncovered his secret. They had talked about it, and Will had let him walk.

They’d had it coming. Abusing Seth all his life, Seth had run away from home at 16. He’d worked hard, earned his keep at the docks, till one day at 24 he found out that his parents had adopted a little girl. It took one visit back home to realise that everything they’d done to him…everything they’d put him through…she was going through it. And then some, if the looks she had given his father was anything to go by.

He’d made it look like an accident. Coached little Cecilia into sleeping in the treehouse whenever she had nightmares. He chose one of those nights when he could see her little nightlight in the treehouse window, and smothered them in their sleep starting with his father (his mother still took sleeping pills, so she wouldn’t hear the screaming) then placing a candle on the carpet next to their bed. They’d gone up in smoke. Not a trace left. No sign of arson, simply carelessness on their part. Cecilia lived with him now as his daughter.

The man hadn’t exactly been thrilled to see Will Graham and six dogs in his office at 4 am in the morning when he had news of a break in.

“We need to talk, Seth.” Will said, a half-hearted smile on his lips.

“Sure, let me put out the alarm first.” He said, keying in his code and accepting the call from the company.

“Yea….this is Seth Annelore….1964, and Fitzpatrick…yeah, confirmed false alarm. There’s a problem with our door lately, Ima get it fixed. Yeah, thanks.”

He opened his mini fridge and took out two beers and a pack of beef jerky, which the dogs instantly perked up to.

“So…” he said, taking a seat opposite Will. “It was a lie, right? The whole you being a serial killer thing. You were acquitted. It was a lie?”

“I was framed by one of the monsters I chase.” Will mumbled, taking a drag from the bottle.

“Sucks…so, what d’ya need?”

“I…want to leave.”

“Where?”

“…I was thinking France.”

“France? Fancy.”

“Yes…I think I deserve it.” Will chuckled in response.

“…no debate there. I need to know why, though. Why you’re running. I need to know you haven’t hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.”

Will nodded slowly, setting his beer down. “Chasing monsters…has taken its toll on me. I just…want to be somewhere where I can’t see them and they can’t find me. Before…before its too late. Its already too late, to be honest. I’ve lost…so many people.”

He thought of Beverly, but when Abigail came to mind he felt his brain stutter in pain. It was that look of loss that won Seth over.

“Alright…alright. Dogs, too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, dogs too.”

“You can’t bring them all, Will.”

“…how many?”

“One and a half. I suggest the small one.” Seth joked. “I’ll take care of the rest, alright? Find them good homes.”

Will nodded slowly, looking over his dogs in sadness.

“Alright…when do we leave?”

Will found himself aboard a cargo ship sailing for France. It was tough, keeping Winston and Buster entertained in the private quarters of the ship where only the captain and first mate went. They silently allowed him to walk his dogs up and down the cramped halls, never asking his name but feeding him and the dogs.

Within a couple of weeks, he was on French soil with two dog carriers, his pups high off of sleeping pills for easier transport. After a few train rides and car rentals, he found himself standing in Cassis.

His father had told him a lot about the place, about its breath-taking beauty. He always thought he’d been over exaggerating, especially since he’d only seen it once in passing, when he’d been travelling through Europe with some friends. Apparently, his grandmother on his father’s side had been from here.

He wandered, two groggy dogs on leashes in tow and a single duffel bag on his back, till he reached the docks. Standing over the quay, he felt a presence beside him.

“Lost?” a man asked him curiously, sitting on a bench. He looked sun warmed and friendly.

Will dredged whatever accent he remembered his father speaking in when he would imitate his mother, far from the Louisiana Creole he usually used.

“No, I’m where I want to be.”

The man was a little surprised, then grinned.

“Your accent, it’s very strange, but very familiar.”

“My grandmother was from here.” Will explained. Something about a prodigal son returning seemed to cheer the man up even more, and soon they were sitting on the bench talking about life by the sea.

He gave directions to Will on how to get to a boat dealers nearby, and he found himself walking away with a phone number and an invitation to dinner.

Life was starting to look up.

 -

Two months later

 -

Will had fallen into habit, and it was a comfortable one. He’d wake up ridiculously early and go to the marketplace with Winston and Buster, mostly for their walk but also to buy the fresh bread and produce for that day and some spare animal parts for the dogs. Some days, he bought some eggs and meat for himself as well. He didn’t buy in bulk, instead buying just enough for that day’s meal.

After walking for a while, circling the village, he would return to the boat and pull out from harbour. After fishing for a short while, he usually caught a fish or two, which he cooked up and ate for breakfast with sides of fresh leafy vegetables. If he hadn’t had any luck, then eggs it would be.

After breakfast, he’d put together some quick lunch boxes (one for him, one for the dogs), return to shore and begin working at the mechanic shop down the road, fixing boat as well as car parts for some money. The dogs would lounge about near the front of the shop and keep the customers company.

He’d been lucky with his spending so far, with Seth sending him here for free and with his father’s inheritance on top of his own money, now stashed in a French bank account. After he’d bought the boat and rented out a spot on the harbour, everything else had been cheap. After all, he was a simple man with simple needs.

Sometimes he’d get the odd broken machine that people would bring to his boat for him to fix for a little pocket money. The old man he’d met on his first day in Cassis, Lucas Dubois, had taken a liking to him. After many dinners with him and his wife Sasha, Will had found himself in proud possession of a Cassis accent as well as a wind-up record player and an ever growing collection of old records.

Which led him to his evening routine. After returning to the boat and doing whatever chores were waiting for him, he’d sit on deck with a sweating glass of whiskey, belly full of dinner, and put on some records.

Sometimes he thought about his past life, using his phone to look up Tattlecrime and see what was going on in Netherland. It was never pretty, often disturbing and usually overdramatised. Apparently Alana and Jack were Freddie’s new punching bags, in the absence of Will.

Other times, when unwelcome thoughts of ‘coulda, shoulda, woulda’s came to mind, he’d just close his eyes and let the music run over him, keeping his phone as far from him as possible. Letting the music voice his regrets and pain for him would have to be enough.

As the Ink Spots’ sweet crooning swept over the still evening, warbling voices singing “It's all over but the crying, and nobody's crying but me.” Will would allow the sun to set over the ocean and the worries to set over his mind, giving way to sleep, whether restful or not. The music would play and the music would peter off into the darkness, “It's all over but the dreaming, poor little dreams that keep trying to come true~” as the record player was completely unwound, giving way to lapping of ocean waves against the bow.

And tomorrow, he would be new again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this random ass drabble when I hear the Ink Spots' song 'Its all over but the crying', and I immediately thought of Will sitting on a boat somewhere on the Mediteranean Sea with a cold glass of whiskey and his dogs at his feet, having left the crazy people to duke it out on their own and saved himself from the ratrace.
> 
> Lyrics:  
> It's all over but the crying  
> And nobody's crying but me  
> Friends all over know I'm trying  
> To forget about how much I care for you  
> It's all over but the dreaming  
> Poor little dreams that keep trying to come true  
> It's all over but the crying  
> And I can't get over crying over you


End file.
